Forsaken
by The.Clown.That.Smiles
Summary: Edgar hates the real world of reality. Creating his own pushes the feelings away.


_Disclaimer - I don't own the lost boys._

_I was up all night and early hours of the morning writing this, till six in fact, so it could be rubbish. Well, I don't like it, but I'll let you decide what you think._

_Credit to redeyedcat for letting me use something  
_

* * *

Edgar is stuck in between two worlds.

There is the one that he has created from his mind, making everything around him a form of reality from his thoughts. When he jumps into this world, everything is okay for that time, because everything is back as it should be, without blood and death, without the anguish, hurt, and loss. It all comes crashing down when he is forcefully tugged back into the other. The scent of blood is in the air, all the cries and screams assault his ears, and he sees all these lost souls moving around him. Edgar comes back to the real reality, and it crashes down on him with a force that threatens to break him apart, bit by bit, rip him to pieces. Despite the deep ending coldness that is always with him, and the death that always trails to him, he fights and he doesn't give in. Not to the nashing teeth, the red burning eyes, and the fangs of his once brother, his once best friend, Alan. The attempts of luring him in with his fake words of sincerity, and all the images he plants into his mind…Edgar does not give into his brother. But merely stands straight and tall, wearing the mask of the hunter he has become.

But the world, the world of reality in which he tries so hard to block out, wants to crush him to dust, skin him alive, and break down all the things that make him, him. Wherever he goes, whenever he moves, death always find him, and it tries to consume him, lure him in with its whispers of words and promises of things that he knows can never be. The streets become filled with blood and ash, and all those screams and cries pound in his head, never leaving, but only growing, filling him up with a dread that never goes.

They start with small chimes, but grow louder, loud that he knows it has to be done, that sooner or later the game of cat and mouse will end. Edgar pushes it out, he pushes away the things that can never be, and the things he yearns for deep inside. The world in which Edgar has no control over is a place he hates, because he is so alone. He never cared for anyone, not really. There were only two people who really ever mattered in his life, and both had been snatched away from him by clammy, cold, pale hands with sharp claws, and the stench of death covering them. Now Edgar has no one, but now, now he really feels what it is like to be so alone. The nights seem longer, the days never end, and he watches that sun rise, as he watches it fall, disappearing behind the clouds, disappearing just like everything else has from his life.

The night falls, and the streets become alive with those that no not that these monsters lurk in the shadows with red glowing eyes, and monstrous faces, watching them, stalking them, wanting them. Edgar is the one who watches those who prey on the innocent. But it's not like it once was. Edgar has no one, not the words of his brother with him, all the stupid snide comments he would give, or the quirk of a half smile given. The times when they would have some form of…when it was just them, the vampire hunters, together, fighting away the evil that plagued towns, that was consuming all shreds of goodness.

Now he moves without a sense of him their with him, now he moves without feeling Alan beside him, now Edgar moves with just nothing but his world wanting to close in on him, squeeze him to death, take all the little emotions that will surface within him. The world of reality is poison, full of sins that destroy and feel nothing, a world in which it can only torment Edgar, try to snatch his soul with its grubby, imaginative, hands. It wants to harvest these emotions and break down everything, break down the fight he has, the stand tall and straight he always is, and it wants to pull that humanity from him, destroy him so he becomes a destroyer, so he has no shred of goodness within him.

Edgar hates the world of reality, because it isn't the world he once knew. The world of reality is full with nothing but pain, blood, death, carnage, and destruction. And Edgar is always there, smack right in the middle of it all. It always finds him no matter where he goes. Death loves Edgar, it loves to torment him, it wants to break him down and tear him apart, but it never wins. Edgar fights and he pushes all the hurt amd the loss he has had to endure, all the grief and pain he has had to feel, and he becomes the stony hunter he has learnt to be.

But Alan. Edgar missed Alan like no other could, like nothing he had ever pocessed. In a heart beat, Edgar would have given his life to have Alan, as he once was, without the sharp fangs, the malicious, viperous eyes, and that cunning smile. Edgar would have gave that up in a flash for Alan, but he cannot give in for his brother. No matter how Alan puts on his fake words, and tries to trick Edgar by wearing a mask of his formal old self, it does not work. The pain will be visible in Edgar's eyes as he stares at Alan, straight into his vampire eyes and, even though that hand will loosen a little on the stake, he does not give in, and he does not let Alan find a way in. He covers the emotions as soon as they come, as he will not let any threads unravel so Alan can get his monstrous claws on it, and begin to tug, tug those emotions out and destroy them. Alan can only do this for so long, until the monster in him scratches and claws its way to the surface, having enough of the games. It becomes better for Edgar when Alan stops playing his old self, when he tries to be the self he was to lure in Edgar, as he sees him for what he really is, and he will stare straight at him, knowing it isn't the Alan he once knew. It repeats in his mind and he shouts them, shouts those words. It is not Alan. What he is looking at is the shell of his brother he once knew. The thing that is inside Alan is not the brother he grew up with, who looked out for each other, who always had each others back. This thing inside Alan is a monstrous, killing, machine, and Edgar tries to come to terms with it, tries to get it imprinted into his mind. But as he says this, there is hesitation, more so when a smile will come onto Alan's face. He pauses and all the images of the days back in Santa Carla, where the smell of new comics filled his senses, where Alan was human, not a murderer who wanted to bring Edgar with him, fills his mind.

But it vanishes and the sting of the chest comes. A curl of the lip is given, anger and determination burn within his eyes, and he stares hard at Alan, screaming those words within his mind. Alan is not his brother, not anymore. He is a vampire, and Edgar knows he needs to come to terms with that, as he hasn't. He still pretends that everything is okay, that he doesn't see the flash of burning fiery eyes, that he doesn't see the blood coating his face, nor the fangs that extract from gums. But Edgar tries so hard to push the grief away, to push all the hurt, loss, and loneliness. It will not help, as Alan will use it to his advantage. It will only be sometime until Alan will find a way in if it continues.

For now they remain playing the game of cat and mouse. Sometimes Edgar will be the mouse running, and Alan will be the cat ready to pounce and attack. Tables turn and Alan runs, merely that out of amusement, but no one strikes when they come together. Alan still wants Edgar, still wants him in the world of darkness, and Edgar still feels the hesitation when he has the opportunity to kill.

For now, they remain without.

* * *

It never gets better, not when he comes across someone new, not when there is a spark of something, when it feels like it's just a tiny little better, because it's not. Every night the blood washes down the streets, every night death comes to him, and every night it attacks, just attacks and attacks. With Edgar there is nothing but the scent of death, the flesh and blood upon him, and the empty feeling somewhere inside. It will only be a matter of timing until the emotions, and all those hurt felt feelings slither to the surface. He will not break down, but it becomes harder.

And then Sam. They all assault him viciously, their faces appearing in his mind, they are in the mirror, on the walls as he moves, and the memories that now clench painfully at his heart invade his mind, and Edgar tries to slam them out forcefully. Sam. It is Sam who attacks his mind, and he smiles that boyish smile as he shouts an insult at Edgar by what he wears. It is Edgar who glowers and gives the middle finger raised high. Sam laughs that laugh that bounces all around, and he becomes blurred, his laugh becomes quiet, distant, and the memory washes away. All it brings is even stronger emotions, and Edgar thinks of all the things that help rid them away, that help him be back the hunter he once was. But it never works as, although it might for sometime, sooner or later he is attacked again. Sam has been snatched into the world of blood and death, and he now has his own set of fangs. He trails behind Alan, moves around with him, playing some sort of bodyguard, and he does anything Alan asks. If he is told to check upon Edgar, he does, when he is told to kill one from their pack or any other, he does. It is Sam who wants Edgar just as much as Alan wants him, but it is Sam who doesn't wear the patience that Alan has.

Edgar tries again; he tries to block the feelings upon seeing Sam. The orange demonised eyes laugh at him as they stare in silence, and he will lazily wave a hand, flashing a smile, so fangs are visible. It is Edgar who gives Sam a disgusted look, the darkness shadowing his face. With Sam, when they are face to face, it is easier to block the feelings, but with him, he too cannot move in for the kill. His eyes will be cautious, untrusting as Sam circles him, a flash of burning eyes coming every so often. That smile will grace his lips and the blood of a fresh kill will be mired up his face. Edgar does nothing but watch, watch wearily, and untrusting. Sam merely teases him, taunts him, and laughs.

When he leaves, when he has left a message and stated his purpose of being there, those feelings will come, and Edgar will fight them. But he never gives in, not to the brother he had lost, the best friend he once had, and he never gives in into the world of darkness and blood. There still feels a reason for none of it to not end. The hope for what it once was has long gone with Edgar, but the responsibilities he has to protect the innocence, to destroy the things the ones he loved had become, was always there.

Edgar wasn't close to giving up. There was still a reason to keep moving, to keep fighting, and staying strong, only the feelings crashed down on him again and again.

* * *

The world of reality was not a nice place, but it was so much worse now he was alone. The trailer seemed small and cramped during those dusty, hot, days, where the beads of sweat would roll, and the clock seemed to never tick. He tried to sleep, to gain his strength ready for when the night fell, but he thought of Alan, thought at that time that would surely come sooner or later. For now, Alan was playing with him, slowly creeping close, looking for a way in, a way to break him down, till there was nothing left. It was going to end soon, and Alan would move in, ready to take him, to feel the bones crack and flesh peel as he sunk his fangs into his neck. Alan wanted Edgar badly, and it wouldn't be long until the patience wore thin. He wasn't going to stop, he never would stop until he got what he wanted. He made that clear. Either Edgar became one of the un dead or he became nothing but a corpse lying in the ground. If Alan couldn't have his brother back where he belonged, then no one could have him. He wasn't going to see him move around, still human. He either went, or he came with them. There was only two options.

For now, Alan only could concentrate, only need with a deep yearn, for Edgar to be with him and Sam, to be where he was wanted. Edgar would have rather died a brutal death than ever become the one thing he hated, but Alan wasn't giving up so soon. It was Edgar who thought of that during those days as he stared at the clock when sleep would not come to him. Sooner or later, the games would stop and Alan would move in, ready to strike and claim him. Edgar knew what happened then, knew what he had to do. If he didn't, Alan would win, and a small shred of fear stalked to the surface within as he thought of himself with a set of fangs. As he saw Sam and Alan with all that carnage over them, it came to him. To save himself from a fate that he didn't want, he would have to take the two out. Alan was his main threat, but when he thought of it, grief moved, and it formed. It sounded easy back in those days, when they first became hunters, both promising one another they would take them out if one ever become one of the un dead. Without hesitation, Edgar promised he would kill Alan, drive a stake through his heart and end his life forever. Alan was the same. He promised he would deliver his brother to the hands of death if he ever became a monster. Looking back, it seemed so easy to say those words, to promise such a thing, to promise he would and could kill Alan. It was different now it really had happened, now that Alan had become the thing Edgar never dreamt he would. The only worries he had ever had was of Alan being taken out by one, not becoming one, but it had happened, and everything had fallen apart.

The pictures came of the two standing opposite each other, ready to do what had been coming for a long time. Alan was there, fangs visible, a deep menacing, dangerous look within his eyes, and that never giving up, that determination would be with him. The time had come. It was either fight or let him win. As much as Edgar felt sickness form inside at the thought of being a vampire, it was hard just thinking of destroying Alan. He knew now Alan wasn't Alan. He knew now that he was a cold blooded killer, who murdered to savagely, getting all those dark little pleasure from the torture he brought down on his victims, and he knew there was nothing human left to him, only a monster that would stop at nothing to get him. But, although he knew this, it didn't get easier when thinking at what was to come sooner or later. He had grown up with Alan, every little word they spoken to each other, every fight they had, those days when Sam would stroll into the comic store, the nights when they would click their torches on and talk from under the sheets... All those times were now a time that would never happen again but, no matter what Alan was now, he had still been Edgar's brother, and to kill something that you still loved, no matter how you knew it was a monster, the grief, hesitation, and hurt poured to the surface. But there was no other way around it, there was no other choice. He either gave in right there and then, accepting it, or he pushed all those thoughts and feelings away, seeing Alan as never being his brother, just seeing him as any other vampire he had killed, and striked.

But it was hard, and he knew he couldn't be like it when the time came. He would lose otherwise.

* * *

Alan was banking on this. He knew Edgar didn't have the guts to go through with those words he had promised from all those years ago, and he knew Edgar would never take the move to kill him. This was Alan's advantage, and he knew Edgar would slowly but surely crumble beneath him, and he would give in, or the hesitation at killing him would make Alan win. His tongue burned and the thirst and hunger rose as he could all but practically taste his brother. He was hungry, he was filled with nothing but that determination and deep want to get Edgar, and the hunger became worse the more he thought of sinking his fangs into his flesh, greedily drinking his precious blood. He swallowed saliva and his eyes flashed for a fraction of a second.

A small irritated look came and he pushed Sam's legs off his, giving him a look, before finding his way back to Edgar. The patience was wearing thin, and the want, the need to kill him was forming. Edgar needed to be with them, and Sam said it every night. Why hadn't he done it yet? Or was he going to carry on fucking him around? Alan did it to slowly break everything down, show him there was no point in fighting. He had nothing, so why still fight? They could be together, the three like they once were, only the above of all things, but Edgar couldn't see it. The burning became worse on Alan's tongue and the hunger rose even more.

And, Sam, the only one he would ever confide in, became irritated and impatient with waiting, more so when he was sent out to check upon Edgar, to send messages and other shit he was told to deliver to him. Sam couldn't resist teasing Edgar and sometimes, just sometimes, he liked to get close enough, take a risk at getting close enough to touch. It was only supposed to be a two minute job, but Sam couldn't help himself, mainly because he secretly liked seeing Edgar, hated turning away, seeing him still human, and he knew it pissed Alan off.

Alan knew though. He knew that, although Sam wanted Edgar with them, he was somewhat jealous, and it formed within his eyes when Alan would speak of him. With that vicious look, Alan would merely smile and look at Sam. He never hid it, and Alan never said anything.

* * *

There was another world Edgar had created, and many times he sank into it. The salty sea air was deeply breathed in, all those sickly, greasy smells invaded him, and the lights flashed and pulsated in flourescent colours. Nothing but laughs and screams were heard and the hot, sticky dusty, night air made him feel like he was really there. Alan would look at him in silence, and Edgar would stare back, afraid he was going to turn to glass again and crack to a million pieces. He tried not to lose concentration and he moved around the store, taking in the comics, the smell, and the sounds of the fans spinning aimlessly around.

Alan never said anything, but he was there. He would watch Edgar in silence, sometimes follow him around, and Edgar never spoke to him either, but he couldn't resist the tempation and yearn to touch him so he did. Alan felt alive, and he smelt human. Despite his eyes seeming blank they held a brighteness to them that the real Alan didn't have. His eyes were only full of a viciousness, a deep dangerous, meancing look, but this Alan, he was the Alan Edgar remembered so painfully with all his heart. He never spoke, never spoke, but Edgar got comfort in this. Although a feeling of happines surged through him, he knew it wouldn't last before he was yanked back to the real word, and if he heard Alan's voice, he knew it would surely break him down. It was hurting to see him, but when these feelings began to choke him a cord of rope around his neck, it helped them to disappear as he came into the world he had created.

Just for those times, as he stayed with Alan in the comic store, there were no vampires, there was no blood running down the walls and streets, and there was no monster Alan or Sam. Everything was okay, they were okay, and he wasn't alone. It was like it used to be. Them together, no fangs, no monstrous faces, and burning red eyes.

Now, it had all changed.

Now, the time was coming. Edgar had to fight, or run. But Edgar wasn't one to hide or run, and he knew Alan would only search and search until he found him. There was no escape. It was be a vampire, or be nothing but a corpse in the ground somewhere.

* * *

Edgar hated reality, he hated the real world as it hurt to much, and you can't change the real world. It chose when it wanted to change and it picked what happened to people, but you can't change fate, and there is no changing some things in reality. Edgar wanted it all back. The times back in Santa Carla, on those hot sticky nights where chains rattled, gasoline filled his senses, the bright pulsing lights attacked his eyes, and all the lost souls, all the freaks, moved around without a care.

Because everything was okay then. He and Alan had each other, and Alan wasn't a monster. Being in his fake world, everything was okay for Edgar, becase he wasn't alone, because he wasn't facing vampires that he once knew. He had the brother he once knew and loved back and, for just sometime, the real world was not there.

Edgar was sick of reality and sick with the feelings that he constantly drowned in.

_Edgar was forsaken._


End file.
